Farscape Epic RPG: Tales of Days & Knights
by Chant99
Summary: From RPG. The PKScarran war is heating up and on a fringe system, a newly bonded Chiana & Berret crash land on a medieval world thats heading toward war.
1. Foreword

THE FARSCAPE EPIC RPG UNIVERSE: NEW CHARACTERS & SETTING.  
  
Author's Note: This story was written based on the characters from my Farscape RPG group. I thought I'd try posting it here to see what others thought. But first I need to explain a bit about our RPG so you can follow the extra characters.  
The name of the group is "Farscape Epic RPG" and it can be found on Yahoo groups for those who wish to look us up. The game is based in an alternate Farscape universe that diverges from the shows timeline somewhere after Talyn's birth but before the Chiana / D'argo relationship.  
The Berret character here is basically the same Shrike 457 character from the "Fallen Angel" series posted here at Fanfiction.net. Though the original meeting between Chiana and the Shrike took place in a different way in the game.  
The other new characters in this story are original player characters.  
  
Andar Murdough - is a Sebacean teacher from a forgotten and lost colony. Andar's people have lost so much knowledge over the cycles that space flight is considered science fiction. Andar is abducted by aliens who experiment on his brain trying to increase intelligence. The project works much better then they thought and Andar steals a shuttle and eventually finds his way to Moya. Andar becomes a sponge for any sort of knowledge and begins to go through Moya's data banks learning everything he can. He often sees machines or gadgets in his mind and will disappear for days into his workshop to build them.  
  
Malika Phatan - is a 125-year-old Delvian teenager. After spending a number of cycles as a Peacekeeper slave aboard a command carrier, she and her mother escape in a Prowler, but at the cost of the life of a young PK officer who fell in love and secretly married Malika. After a time of running and hiding, the pair run into a Syndicate Shrike and the meeting leaves young Malika with an intense hatred and distrust for the Enforcers when the assassin kills a client Malika took a job bodyguarding for, and almost kills her and her mother in the process. Sometime after that, Malika's mother is tragically killed, leaving the girl alone. She hears a story about an escaped Leviathan with a Delvian Pa'u aboard and sets out to find the living ship with the hopes of fulfilling her mother's dream of her becoming a Pa'u. She finds Moya and Zhaan (who is alive in our game) and the older Delvian agrees to take her in. However, now there is a Shrike aboard Moya as Chiana's companion and she is having a hard time controlling the tendencies for violence she developed during the hard life she lived on the run from the Peacekeepers. Through young, Malika is also a skilled healer and thanks to her parents, an educated student of exobiology. She sets up a small lab on one of Moya's lower tiers, mostly to hide out from having to be around Berret ... and possibly Andar. Both Andar and Malika feel an attraction to each other, but the Delvian isn't sure she wants to open her heart to another after what happened to her Peacekeeper husband.   
  
Sean Crichton - 70 years after the disappearance of astronaut John Crichton, his descendant Sean uses John and DK's research to construct the Wander module. In an attempt to prove that his ancestor's theories were sound, Sean repeats the slingshot effect and is also thrown halfway across the universe only with a slightly different result. The Wander module is somehow draw backward in time to the Farscape module's location and is expelled from a wormhole near Moya. Sean finds himself stunned to be surrounded by a group of aliens and suddenly faced with a family legend.   
  
Arckatius - The Scarran leader of the Black Syndicate House that enslaved Berret and made him a Shrike Enforcer / Assassin. Arckatius is a distant cousin of Scorpius' and is slightly demented for a Scarran, believing himself to be a "King". In "The Grandmaster", Arckatius sends his Master Shrike, Val'Cirrus after Berret to kill him and bring back his control collar - which contains information about several operations that Berret took part in for the Black Syndicate. Berret has vowed to kill the Scarran Syndicate leader in repayment for his enslavement and the life he feels that Arckatius has destroyed. Driven by the haunting nightmares of the lives he was forced to take as a Syndicate Enforcer, Berret feels that killing Arckatius will go some way in atoning for his "sins." He also holds the Scarran responsible for what he thinks as his inability to love Chiana... and that the Nebari girl could never love him in return because of the things he has done in his Syndicate past.   
  
Grandmaster Zear Shenna - The leader of the mysterious Shrike Clan of Assassin Warriors of legend. A Delvian man over 1600 cycles old, Shenna sometimes appears at when Berret or the crew find themselves needing help. Shenna has an unknown interest in Berret and is somehow able to keep track of him. The crew isn't sure what his agenda is, but so far he seems to genuinely have the group's best interest in heart.  
Grandmaster Shenna revealed some of the true history of the Shrike Clans to Berret and Chiana in "The Grandmaster," where they learned that the Syndicate 'borrowed' the term 'Shrikes' for their assassin Enforcers... playing off the old legends of the ancient warrior / assassin / soldiers to increase the fearsome reputation of their killers.  
  
This story takes place at some point sometime after the events in "Rules Of Engagement," There is no exact timeframe set as of yet but at this time, John and Aeryn have married and Chiana and Berret have been bonded for only a short time. Malika has recently taken the vows for the first level of the Delvian Seek and its still unclear whether Rygel has returned to the Hynerian throne yet or not. (That is an adventure yet to be seen...lol!) This story is still ongoing, as usual... I jump around with a number of stories in an effort not to become too burnt out or bored with a storyline after too long. I think its better for the story in the long run to take a break and let it sit awhile. I find it gives me time to think more on it and get back to it with fresh ideas instead of trying to force something just to finish it.  
I thank everyone who has reviewed my stories and has like them. I wasn't sure that they would interest anyone outside my RPG but I see they have. I thank you for the support and I hope I can continue to keep you all interested in our universe. Please enjoy~!  
  
Chant99 


	2. Chapter 1

The winter wind howled outside the small Inn. The sun had set half a candle length ago and Orrella had just served her twelfth mug of hot ale that night when the tavern's doorway flew open with a resounding crash, letting in a chill burst of fridged air. Some of the patrons complained loudly at the lack of common sense with leaving the door wide open and letting the warmth out, but fell silent when the tall armored figure filled the doorway. His face was scratched and his long hair so disheveled that Orrella thought that surely the man, a knight by the look of his armor plate, had recently been in a skirmish. Highwaymen had been attacking travelers in the area for the last season. The thugs were growing bolder as rumor of war spread throughout the land so it was very likely that is what had happened to the man-at-arms in the doorway. Other than his cladding of protective metal, the man carried no sword or other visible arm, probably having lost it in the fighting with the brigands. What he did carry in his arms was a small form wrapped tightly in a dark cloak. Snow fell from his long dark hair as he said in a strangely accented voice,  
"I need help. She's been hurt."  
Thinking the body he held could be that of a child because of its diminutive size, Orrella hurried out from behind her bar as another customer forced the door closed behind the man.  
"Bring her over by the fire," she ordered briskly as she shooed several men away from that area to make room. The man nodded quickly and carried his bundle toward her. His armored boots thudding against the hardwood plank floors. "What happened?" she asked.  
"We were in a... accident," the man said.  
Orrella absently reconsidered her earlier assessment of the situation. "Your carriage wrecked on the road, did it?" she asked. That made sense also. The man was obviously a knight of some sort, even though his armor looked odd on closer inspection. He was probably escorting some Lady from a far away land and the carriage slid on the icy roadway. It had happened many times before as the fief's roads could become very treacherous in foul weather such as tonight.  
"Something like that," the knight replied a moment later as he set his bundle gently down.  
Orrella turned to one of her serving girls, "Lessa, get me some clean linen for bandaging and boil some water." The girl nodded her head smartly at her instructions and darted off to carry them out. The Inn owner glanced back at the knight. "Let me get a look at your Lady to see how badly she is injured," she told him as she unwrapped the cloak from around the woman's head.  
  
Orrella's look of concern for the small figure turned to one of shock as the face was unwrapped, then transformed into one of horror as the pale gray skin, black lips, and hair as white as freshly fallen snow registered. Behind her, one of the patrons who was looking over her shoulder gasped and said,  
"ShadowFolk!" The name sounding almost like a curse.  
Another man, a woodsman, did curse out loud as Orrella backed away form the creature laying on the floor in front of her fire. The woodsman drew his short sword and moved forward with it raised over his head to dispatch the vile sprite. Alarmed, the knight spun to meet him. There was a sound of ringing metal and sparks flew as he swung one arm in a blur. The Woodman's short sword blade shattered from the impact, leaving him holding nothing but the haft and guard with a half-thumb length of blade still attached. He looked at his weapon and then back at the knight. There was now a pair of wickedly serrated blades protruding from the gauntlet on his right forearm... and hot anger in his eyes. The Woodsman dropped his broken sword and hurriedly backed away from the man. The knight let him retreat and spun back to face Orrella.  
"Why did he do that? What's wrong with you people trying to kill a injured woman?" he demanded in barely contained fury.  
Orrella looked at him in fear. "Why did you bring her here?" she asked in turn, the terror in her voice growing. "She's ShadowFolk. Nothing but evil and death follow those. You should have had enough sense to kill her when you came across her, Sir Knight."  
"She is my Bond-mate. Not one of these ShadowFolk you fear so much," he replied hotly.  
"Bond-mate?" broke in one of the patrons. "Hell's Gates! He's enthralled to her!"  
Another man turned and said, "I'll run and get the Constable and his men." Before anyone could answer him, the man was out the Inn door leaving behind only a gust of cold air.  
The knight got an annoyed look on his face. "I mean... she is my wife," he explained to the patrons. The others in the room looked shocked at the announcement. "And I will kill the next person who tries to harm her," he promised with glaring eyes.  
  
The group didn't seems to be inclined to test out his threat further so Berret let the blades slowly slide back into his gauntlet armor. This seemed to impress them enough for them to want to keep their distance for the time being.  
"I don't want any trouble. Just someplace warm where I can tend to my wife's injuries," he told them.  
The young girl, Lessa, came back into the room carrying a small pot of hot water and several bundles of clean cloth. She paused with a small yelp as she saw the gray woman on the floor and almost dropped the pot. Berret caught it and thanked the girl even as she moved away to hide behind Orrella's apron. Patrons had been slipping out the door in a steady flow after Berret advised them that death would follow anyone who attempted to harm the white-haired female. It was just as well he thought to himself, it was less people to have to keep track of while he cared for Chiana. He reached into a belt pouch and removed one of the gems that he carried as a universal currency. He placed the Killrain Green Diamond on a near-by table.  
"That should cover any inconvenience and loss of business we've caused. There'll be another when we leave," he told her and then began to tend Chiana's slight cuts and bruises with the warm water and white linen cloth.   
Orrella picked up the diamond after Berret went back to looking after Chiana. She passed the gem to another man who looked at it with an appraising eye. After a few moments he passed it back.  
"I have never seen anything like it. It has to be worth a small fortune," he said quietly. Orrella thanked him and placed the diamond safely into her apron pouch. Berret had opened the cloak up to inspect his Bond-mate again. He had given her a rough examination after he had carried her out of the crashed Transport Pod shortly after it exploded. As near as he could tell she had suffered no broken bones in the crash but he had no way of knowing if she had internal injuries and if she did, how bad they were as the med-kit had gone up with the Pod. There hadn't been time to do anything but grab the cataleptic Nebari woman and run for their lives.   
She had a strong pulse, but the woman had been unconscious for the better part of almost two arns and the Shrike was deeply worried. He checked her over again and still found no obvious broken bones or abnormal swelling. He rewrapped the cloak about her small body afterwards and then brushed her growing hair off her forehead to feel for a temperature.  
"Come on, Pixie. Please wake up," he murmured in Nebari as he lovingly stroked her cheek.   
The people around him didn't understand the alien language he was speaking.  
"You see! He speaks in unknown tongues to the creature. He's enspelled by her," whispered one old man.  
"They say that ShadowFolk can only enthrall you when they are awake," said Orrella, watching the armoured man. "She is unconscious so her hold over the knight should have faded... unless he truly loves her."  
"This still tastes of witchery. No good can come of this, Orrella."  
"I don't know of many Darkworshippers who pay for services. Do you, Yana?" asked Orrella in return with a wary eye.  
  
The door opened again letting in the sound of howling wind and Constable Inanta stamped his feet and brushed snow out of his graying hair and beard before asking in a great rumbling voice,  
"Okay, Orrella. What's all this huboo about a ShadowFolk sprite being here? I swear to the Mother, you need to stop letting Pherely drink so much. He burst into my office with this tall tale of..." he broke off as patrons stepped aside and gave him a good look at the gray woman on the floor. "Holy Mother of Light!" he swore next while making a sign over his heart with one finger. Behind him, his two deputies who had followed him in also did a double take.  
Berret rose to his feet to meet the men just as the man named Pherely broke through to the front of the crowd.  
"You see!" exclaimed Pherely, excitedly pointing at Chiana and then at Berret. "There she is just as I told ya. And him there is her Thrall." One of the Deputies unslung a crossbow from over his shoulder and pointed it in Berret's direction as the Shrike firmly placed himself between Chiana and the lawmen.  
"Hold on there, Sir Knight," said Inanta, holding up both his hands peacefully. "We're here to help you. The ShadowFolk woman obviously has you bespelled. You need to step aside and let us handle this and do what needs to be done before she awakes."  
Berret crossed his arms and stubbornly cocked his head slightly to one side as he regarded the Constable and his men.  
"For the last time. Chiana is my wife and not one of these ShadowFolk you keep referring too. I've paid for lodging here and none of you are going to lay a hand on her."  
"You see, he protects her and claims they are wed," exclaimed Pherely again.  
"I can hear him, Pherely," said Inanta in annoyance. "Go sit with the others while I handle this."  
Pherely grumbled and slid off to watch with the rest of the remaining customers while the Constable turned to Orrella.  
"Is it true he paid for lodging here?" he asked. Orella confirmed that Berret had. "Okay," said Inanta, "but that still leaves us the problem of the dark woman." He looked back at Berret, "She still needs to be destroyed despite what you believe. We can't have one of the ShadowFolk here in the settlement. Once she is gone and the spell is broken, you'll come to your senses."  
Berret uncrossed his arms. "I don't want any trouble and as soon as she's well enough and the weather breaks we will be on our way," he said. "But I warn you... if anyone tries to harm my Bond-mate... I will kill them if they force me too."  
"Careful, Constable!" cried Pherely. "He has blades hidden in his gauntlets. I saw them cut right through Pallath's sword like it wasn't even there."  
"Easy, now," Inanta said. "One of my men is going to go over and gather the Shadow woman up. We'll take her outside and see to her. When it's over, you'll feel better and thank us for freeing you."  
Berret frowned knowing that there was going to be no reasoning with these people. They had backed him into a corner and truly believed they were doing the right thing for all concerned. The deputy without the crossbow stepped forward toward Chiana at a gesture from Inanta. Berret let him come and as he walked in front of him, the Shrike released a straight punch directly into the man's solar plexus, driving the man backwards and the breath out of his lungs. The move was so fast and unexpected that the man holding the crossbow swore and fired his weapon before the Constable could order him to stop. The bolt with its iron-barbed tip sped at Berret's chest. Barely a hand-span away from its target, Berret snatched it out of the air with one hand. The Constable and crowd watched awe-struck as Berret regarded the crossbow bolt with silver-tinted eyes and then snapped the thick shaft in half using just the fingers of his hand.   
He let the pieces fall to the floor at his feet as he turned his emotionless gaze to the lawman.  
"Look at his eyes!" one of the patrons cried out.  
"He is possessed by the ShadowFolk!" another added.  
The man who Berret had punched gasped out, "No! I've heard stories... of knights who turn berserker in the midsts of battle, with eyes of fire! Only a warrior of legend could have caught a crossbow bolt such as he did."  
  
"It's been a really long and bad day," he said as he moved toward the Constable and his men, ignoring the talk. "And I was hoping not to have to resort to violence but you're not leaving me much choice."  
The man with the crossbow began franticly to try and re-cock the prod and load another bolt. The other two men backed away reaching for their short-swords as Berret strode threateningly forward. The blades of his right gauntlet brace snapped out once again and he swiped them upwards to cut through the heavy steel prod that powered the crossbow. With the sudden loss of one of its bow limbs, the weapon kicked back and knocked the deputy to the floor.  
"Take it easy, good Knight," Inanta said, holding up empty hands having decided it best not to draw his weapon after all. Berret frowned and stepped menacingly forward anyway.  
"THAT IS ENOUGH!" bellowed Orrella, pausing the men in their tracks before the combat could begin in earnest. "I will not have you silly men brawling in my Inn! If you insist on maiming each other... do so outside where you wouldn't mess my floors."  
Berret backed away from the lawman, really not wishing to fight with the group anyway. He was much too concerned about Chiana to want to spare these men much of his attention. He held up the gauntlet so they could see him retracted the blades, and the silver slowly faded from his eyes as he forced himself to calm.  
"I have no wish to harm anyone. I am only protecting my wife," he said to the constable. "We are not from around here and she is not one of these shadow people you fear. She's just a normal person of a different race, that's all. My eyes are simply a badge of my calling among my people," he explained, using their myths to help form a believable explanation for these natives. The ruse seem to pay off as several of the patrons began to mutter among themselves about how they have heard similar stories about far off lands and their inhabitants. However, their fear of the unconscious Chiana was still plainly evident.  
Inanta gave him a fatherly look, obviously still believing that Berret was somehow being manipulated.  
"Lad, I know you believe that. But she fits the description of the ShadowFolk. Everybody knows they have skin that's gray and as cold as death itself. Even her lips aren't normal; they're the color of something that's been dead for a long time. Please, lad. For your own good, you need to let us take care of her so you can be free of her spell."  
Berret titled his head to one side as he regarded the man. "So you only have a description of what a ShadowFolk looks like? None of you have actually ever seen one?" Inanta blinked his eyes.  
"Well... no. I never have myself," he said after a moment. "But my father claimed to have seen one when he was a lad."   
The constable looked around the Inn but no one else could confirm ever having seen one either.  
"So none of you can positively identify Chiana as one of these evil spirits, or confirm if she is, that I have been put under a spell?" asked Berret.  
The people looked around the room at each other blanky. Orrella finally spoke up.  
"There is one way to test to see if the knight has been enthralled," she said.  
"How?" asked the Shrike, willing to do all most anything to end the situation so he could go back to caring for Chiana. Orrella begin digging under her heavy layers of clothing and eventually produced a round metal pendant on a crude chain from around her neck, and pulled it off over her head. She murmured something under her voice and pressed the object reverently to her lips. Walking over to Berret she held the medallion out.  
"This is a holy relic blessed by the Light Mother. If you were enthralled to a ShadowFolk, you wouldn't be able to hold this in your hands. It would burn you as being unclean of soul, nor would you be able to speak the Light Mother' name," she explained. "If you be free of spirit or gleam, take it in your hands now and swear so."  
Berret moved forward and took the disk from her, making sure that they saw it resting in his bare fingers and not on his armored half-glove.  
"I swear to you and to your Light Mother that my will is my own... and that no dark forces control me," Berret vowed and then for good measure pressed the pendant against his lips just as Orrella earlier had.  
Orrella took back her charm. "I believe him. The Old Mother herself gave the pendant to me. Nothing of the dark could bear its touch."  
Berret nodded his thanks. "Now that I trusted you and passed your test, I would like you to trust me and do something I ask," he said. Orrella looked a little wary.  
"What's that?" she asked.  
"I simply want you to confirm with your own senses that my wife is just another living person," he said as he walked the Innkeeper over to the prone Chiana. The woman looked like she would balk but with the other people in the room watching her, she dare not show any lack of faith after confirming Berret passed her test. The Shrike knelt down besides his bond-mate and Orrella went down besides him. He again lovingly stroked the Nebari girl's cheek and then gently took one of Orrella's hands and ran it down the same gray skin.  
"You see? Nothing to be scared of. Just warm living flesh... nothing dead," Berret told her.  
Orrella looked at the girl in awe and then moved her fingers down to her neck. "Yes, warm like you or me," she said. "I can feel her heartbeat." Orrella looked back up at Berret. "I hardly would have thought to believe that she was anything other then a Shadowfolk. Please forgive me."   
Berret nodded his head that all could be forgiven but he still looked around the room at the rest of the patrons and the lawmen with some concern. Orrella turned back to the girl, Lessa, and then ordered,  
"Run and fetch the Old Mother. Tell her we have an injured woman here and to bring her medicines," she told the girl. The girl stood wide-eyed for a moment and Orrella barked at her to break her from the trance the gray woman held her in.  
"Go! Off with you girl for' I lay my hand to your silly backside," Orrella scolded her. The girl tore off, pausing only to throw on a heavy cloak before scurrying out the Inn's front door on her errand.  
  
Berret sat back on his heels and eyed the Constable and his men warily. Inanta looked from the Shrike back to the Inn owner.  
"So what you're telling us now is that that woman is no danger?" he asked Orrella.  
"No, I don't believe so now," the woman replied distractedly while she looked over Chiana further. For good measure she placed her pendant against one of Chiana's hands. When the gray flesh didn't burn, she nodded to herself and replaced the relic back around her neck.  
Inanta adjusted his heavy coat. "Well, than... if your certain everything is fine and you're willing to let them stay in your Inn, my deputies and I will be one our way."  
Orrella turned to face him long enough to answer, "The good knight paid for lodging for his ill wife and himself. We'll have no further trouble here. Thank you for coming out in this weather, Inanta."  
The Constable nodded his head as if to say that it was all in a day's work when Pherely spoke up from his place at the bar.  
"You can't just go and leave her here! She'll be a curse on this village I tell you!" he exclaimed excitedly. Orrella frowned deeply but before she could take her patron to task, the lawman stepped in.  
"Now hush yourself, Pherely!" he admonished in a strict voice that would bode no argument. "It's Orrella's place and its her call as to whom may stay and who has to go." The big man placed both fist on his hips as he regarded the excited bar customer. Inanta screwed up his face as if something just occurred to him and then said, "As a matter of fact, I believe it was time you were heading back to your home. Your wife must be waiting up for you and the hour is getting late. I can already tell you've had more then your fair fill of ale tonight."  
Inanta took Pherely by one arm and escorted him toward the door to join his waiting deputies. Pherely looked as if he wanted to protest some more, but a deep frown from the Constable made him change his mind. Meekly he stood with Inanta's men waiting for the lawman to finish saying goodnight.  
Orrella gave Inanta a quick look of thanks for taking Pherely off her hands. She had enough to deal with concerning the gray woman and the strange knight who claimed he was her husband without having to deal with Pherely stirring up more trouble among her few remaining other patrons.  
  
After the lawmen left with their unwilling escort, the tension in the Inn abated a bit though some of the other patron ducked out probably believing that it was best not to take the chance that the gray female wasn't an evil spirit despite Orrella's tests. Berret had just settled in enough to relax somewhat when the Inn's door opened again and a woman who would have given the Delvian Grandmaster Shenna a good run for the oldest creature he'd ever seen, hobbled in.  
"Good Eve, Old Mother," said Orrella with more then just a touch of respect in her voice for the old woman. "Thank you for coming so quickly and on such a fridged night like tonight."  
The old woman waved her off with a smile. "Its no bother, Orrella," she said in a voice wore rough from age. "That's what I'm here for and at my age I look forward to being called out. It gives my old bones something to do besides sit by my fire." The woman looked around the room until her eyes landed on Berret who knelt protectively over his bond-mate. "Little Lessa tells me you have some interesting company."  
"Yes, Old Mother. This knight and his good wife where in a carriage accident," Orrella explained.  
"I see," said the Healer as she hobbled closer to the pair before the fireplace. "Move aside, lad... and let old Helena have a look-see at your woman."  
Berret reluctantly moved to one side so the old woman could get at the Nebari woman. Helena's kneels popped audibly as she knelt down beside the prone woman.  
"By the light, I thought the girl was fibbing," exclaimed the Healer with a dry chuckle. "The lass do look like she belongs of the Shadowfolk. As she poked and prodded the unconscious Nebari, Orrella dutifully told the older woman of the tests she administered before she arrived. Helena grunted her agreement and approval when the Innkeeper finished her report and then pried one of Chiana's eyes opened.  
"Lights, but her eyes are so dark you can barely tell if they shy from the firelight," she muttered to herself. The woman then dug through bag of herbs and handed several items to Orrella with instructions to boil them into a broth tea. Helena then turned her attention to the tall man next to her.  
"Help me up, would you kind Knight?" she asked Berret. The Shrike offered her his hand and helped her to her feet again. The old woman gave Berret a strange look and then asked,  
"Did you carry your Lady far in this weather?"  
"Yes, quite a distance," Berret answered, unsure why the woman would need to ask the question of him.  
Before he could stop her, Helena placed one wrinkled hand against his forehead and then ran in down the sides of his face. "How do you feel?" she then asked.  
"Fine," the Shrike answered.  
"You feel no chills?"  
"None."  
The old woman shook her head. "You will soon," she said in a tone that left no room for doubt. "You've caught a good chill tonight. Drink some of the broth Orrella will bring your Lady. She's taken a good knock to the head but I don't think she's broken anything. It's this cold that drains the health from a body. In these parts it has a way of sneaking up on the unwary and robbing them of their vim. Have Orrella keep her warm and spoon some of the broth tea down her, as much as you can. Come morning she should be up and about."  
"Thank you," said Berret. He drew another crystal from his pouch and attempted to pay the woman for her service. The Healer shook her head and refused the payment.  
"Thank you, Sir Knight," she said and than squinted her eye as she regarded him. "No disrespected... But even though you wear armor, I don't think you are a knight. Are you?"  
"Not in the sense I think you mean, Old Mother. No," the Shrike answered.  
"You're an honest lad, I give you that. Most young men mistaken for a knight might be tempted to abuse the privilege. Many a fair country maid have fallen to fast talking charlatans," Helena told him. "You're no commoner and I can see you're no stranger to death. You have that pail about you that says you've seen more blood spilt then you care to remember."  
Berret reminded silent, becoming a little un-nerved that the old medicine woman was able to read him so well in just a short time. His discomfort must have shown as the woman padded his arm in reassurance.  
"Fear not, laddie. Whatever secrets you hold are yourn' to keep. It's just not often you meet a dangerous man who has been tamed," Helena continued on with a smile that revealed very few teeth left in her mouth.  
She nodded toward Chiana asleep on the floor. "It was she that caught ya and settled your heart?"  
Berret looked at his bond-mate. "Yes... she makes me a better person," he admitted.  
The old woman cackled out loud and poked him teasingly in the ribs. Despite the armor covering the area, Berret found himself involuntarily flinching from the tease like a child.  
"I thought so," she said. "I was always a slack-wit for a good love story." She leaned in closer to Berret as if to confide a deep secret. "In my younger days, I turned more than a few men from their wild ways," she said with a wink. "You both be good to each other. The time passes quicker than ya knows." She began stuffing items and pouches back into her bag. "If you still feel the need to pay me, you can leave a donation with Orrella toward my supply bill. It goes against the Light Mother's teachings to charge to heal the sick."  
"Thank you. I will do that then," answered Berret.  
The old woman hitched up her bag over one shoulder and nodded to Berret.  
"You be sure to drink down as much of the broth as you can tonight to fight off the chills, otherwise you'll be deathly sick come morning and you'll have to call for me again," she told him.  
Berret told her he would follow her instructions and idly wonder what the Healer would say if she knew about his microbe augmentation. He almost dismissed the idea of drinking her potion then decided that given the habit of his microbes to protect him against some sicknesses and then totally leave him to the mercy of some simple forms of illness such as a common cold - it might be best to err on the side of caution this time and take his medicine so to speak.  
Helena patted his arm again as she went to the door and muttered something about how love can change anything. She gave him one last parting smile and then began quietly singing a love song to herself in a croaking voice as she walked out the Inn door.  
Berret shook his head slightly and wondered why all the old people he'd met in his life seemed so eccentric.   
  
Orrella helped Berret spoon-feed some of the broth into Chiana without having the Nebari woman gag too much in the process. The Innkeeper showed the ex-assassin the room she had set aside for him and his bond-mate but Berret elected not to move Chiana from beside the warmth of the fireplace for the moment. Instead, Orrella had one of her workers bring down a mattress and the Shrike placed his wife on it to make her more comfortable. A few arns later, Orrella chased her few remaining customers out for the night. The Inn owner frowned slightly as she realized the amount of business she'd lost that evening due to Berret and Chiana's sudden appearance. To make up for her loss, the Shrike gave her another diamond crystal and an additional one to go toward Helena's supply bill. With the Inn closed for the night, Berret felt safe enough to remove most of his armor. However, he left on his blade braces in case some of the villagers took it into their heads to try and surprise them sometime during the night.   
Orrella and her staff had retired to their rooms several arns ago and Berret sat propped up in a chair watching over his wife and occasionally feeding the fire to keep her warm. He found himself staring off into the flickering flames sometime in the middle of the night when Chiana's moan brought him fully alert. He was at her bedside in an instant; the Nebari woman rolled her head weakly from side to side as she fought her way toward consciousness.  
"Pixie?" Berret asked in a whisper as he stroked her face. "Chiana?"  
Chiana's dark eyes fluttered open and she looked around in mild confusion. Her eyes found him in the semi-light of the fire.  
"Are we dead?" she asked in a raspy voice.  
Berret shook his head. "Not yet," he said with a small tight smile. "How do you feel?" he asked.  
"I've been better," Chiana replied. "I don't think anything's broken. I just have a headache and I'm thirsty."   
Berret reached over to the warming pot next to them and poured her a mug of the broth. Holding her head up, he helped her drink.  
"Where are we?" Chiana then asked as Berret eased her head back down on the pillow.  
"We crash landed on a small planet just passed the Peacekeeper defense satellite that shot us down."  
"How bad's the Pod?"  
Berret shook his head again, "Totally destroyed. The fuel cells exploded shortly after impact. I was barely able to get you out in time before they went up. I wasn't able to save anything else." Berret visibly swallowed as he relived those few terrifying microns. "I thought I'd lost you," he confessed.  
Chiana saw the fear of losing her in his eyes and smiled up comfortingly at her husband.  
"Hey," she said as she reached up to brush his face with the tips of her fingers, "You can't get rid of me that easy. So how bad is it? Where are we now?"  
Berret sat down besides in wife to be closer to her. "Well, I managed to find us shelter. This planet has a primitive civilization of a sort. I estimate that they are somewhere between a Medieval and early industrial stages. No space flight, of course. They speak a sort of bastardization of early Sebacean but I hear hints of S'Aqualian and Norressi accents in their language."  
Chiana nodded, knowing the microbe technology her husband possessed allowed him to hear and copy fine details of different languages. With the standard translator microbes most beings including herself were injected with simply made her hear another person speak in Nebari... that is, as long as the other being's language was programmed into her microbes she would hear Nebari. If the language weren't, she would need to have another injection with the proper microbes to understand them. Berret's translator microbes were a bit more complicated and allowed him to tell the differences in languages and copy accents. It was more or less just another tool for use in the assassin's trade. She's asked him before to explain how he perceived their friends talking to him and he told her he wasn't sure what language he was speaking in half the time even though when she heard him talking to others, the conversation was always in Nebari as far as she was concerned. He described the feeling of talking with others as a change in tempo, tone, and accent depending on whom he was talking to. He could say the exact same thing to several of their crewmates and it would feel different to him each time. Hello to Crichton would feel different from saying hello to Aeryn and Andar, and different from Malika and Zhaan. Berret found it hard to put into words for Chiana and he said it just got to the point where he didn't try and figure out what he was doing when he spoke and just accepted it. One sure thing is, being able to copy locate dialects had come in handy on several occasions when Berret had to pass himself off as a native. Chiana also knew that she probably wasn't going to be able to talk to any of the natives here, as their speech probably wasn't programmed into her microbes if it was an old tongue. It wouldn't do her much good if it were in any event, as the natives wouldn't have microbes of their own to understand Nebari. Chiana reached up to touch her bond-mate's face, glad that except for some almost healed scratches he was all right. As her fingertips brushed his skin again she felt his body's unusual warmth. Placing her palm against his cheek, she confirmed her first impression.  
"You're too warm," she said to him. Berret caught her hand and squeezed it slightly and smiled over her sudden concern.  
"It's just a slight fever. Nothing to worry about," he told her.  
"Are you sure? You normally don't get sick," Chiana asked.  
Berret nodded again. "It's something to do with the weather here. The inhabitants make a tea out of herbs to counteract it. That's what I just gave you and I had some earlier. Their healer says we will be fine in the morning." The Nebari took her husband at his word and hoped he was right. She put those thoughts aside for the moment as she thought of something of more immediate importance.   
"Do you think the others will be able to find us?"  
Berret shrugged his shoulder. "I don't know," he admitted. "I ejected a distress buoy just before our orbit decayed. If it picks up Moya's plexxing beacon on a search pattern, it should switch on and warn them of the defense satellite and give them our position. The Aeryn and Malika can go in with the Prowlers and destroy the satellite before they send a Pod in to pick us up."  
The Nebari woman nodded and didn't comment anymore. She adjusted her position on the mattress and half crawled onto her bond-mate's lap to lean against him. Berret wrapped his arms around her and was thrilled to have her hug him back after the arns of worry he just went through.  
Chiana stared into the fire for a while and then asked in idle curiosity, "What do these people look like?"   
"Like Sebaceans," Berret muttered distractedly in response as he stroked her hair.  
Chiana stiffened as a thought struck her. She remembered a few occasions on primitive planets where she looked different then the normal populace... and things hadn't gone too well for her back then. She lifted her head to look at her husband in alarm.  
"If these people are a pre-space flight civilization, how did you explain me to them?" she asked in worry.  
Berret assured her that everything was fine for the moment and got her to lay her head back down on his chest. He started to stroke Chiana's hair once again as he said,  
"That... is a very long story. But it can wait until the morning."  
Anyone else and Chiana would have demanded the details right then. However, she trusted her bond-mate without doubt, so she relaxed against him and enjoyed the feel of his hand running over her hair, letting the dancing fire in the hearth make her eyes heavy with sleep.  
"Sir Berret?"  
Berret eyes slowly opened as the voice called his name. He was confused and groggy with sleep as he finally realized Orrella was standing over him lightly touching his shoulder. Idly he wondered how the woman had gotten so close to him without waking him, but then he decided he must have been more exhausted then he had originally thought.  
"Yes, Mistress Orrella?" Berret replied as he wiped sleep from his eyes. In his lap, Chiana stirred at the voices and stretched like a Sebacean Floxx-cat. As she opened her dark eyes, Orrella took a cautious step back away from the couple.  
"I see your Lady must have awakened during the night. I was just wondering if the two of you would like to break your fasts before I open the Inn?" the Innkeeper asked, openly curious about Chiana.  
The Nebari girl gave the other woman a friendly smile trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. She rested her head contentedly back against Berret's chest while reaching around his chest to hug him.  
"Good morning," she murmured.  
Berret replied in kind and the Nebari cracked in eye back open to regard him. "What did our host say?" she inquired. Berret told her about the offer for breakfast and Chiana responded eagerly at the idea.  
Berret chuckled good-naturedly at his bond-mate.  
"Now I know you're perfectly fine if you're not turning your nose up at food," he exclaimed.  
Chiana absently slapped at his chest. "Be quiet!" she said mockingly.  
Orrella was watching the pair with unconcealed interest as they spoke in the incomprehensible tongue. After the gray woman frowned and swatted at the knight for something he said to her, the man turned and told her they would be grateful for something to eat. The Innkeeper ambled back into the kitchen a little more at ease with the situation. Even though she couldn't understand a word the couple was saying to each other it was obvious they were wed. The way the gray woman didn't hesitate to put the man in his place left no doubt in her mind about that. All men, wither highborn knights or the lowest common folk, needed a strong woman to keep them in their places and out of trouble. It was good to know that even in foreign lands, some things will always be the same she thought with a knowing grin. There was one thing that struck her as odd now that she thought of it. She could have sworn that the man's face had been scratched up last night from the accident they'd had. Now it appeared as if nothing at all had happened to him. Maybe she had been mistaken about his injuries or it had simply been just dirt she thought were scratches. Another thing that occurred to her was that the man's strange accent had faded. He spoke now as if he'd lived in this area all his life. Orrella frowned at herself for worrying about something so silly. Many people spoke more that one language as was obvious with the knight. She had heard that some people could speak other regional dialects flawlessly under normal conditions but under stress, such as a carriage wreck and having to carry your spouse an untold distance in bad weather might cause, their command of the second language might falter a bit and they make mistakes... like allowing an accent to creep in. She smiled satisfied with herself for having logically explained her new guests. After all, she considered herself an intelligent civilized woman, not some uneducated superstitious backwoods female - Thank the Light Mother.  
  
Berret strapped on his armor before joining Chiana at the table for breakfast. As the couple ate, Orrella's staff cleaned up the mattress the Nebari had spent the night on and straightened up the Inn's common room before it was to be opened to the public for business. The Shrike caught the workers occasional glancing at Chiana out of the corner of their eyes while they worked; Chiana also caught the attention and did her best to try to appear normal. Berret had given her his cloak to wear over her usual outfit after Orrella pointed out privately that Chiana was showing a bit more skin that was normally acceptable in good company. The Innkeeper promised to find the Nebari something more appropriate to wear during their stay. Berret thanked the woman after offering an apology for the slight transgression of local custom. He further went on to offer an explanation that they haled from a warmer climate and it was common for people to wear less clothing to keep cool. Orrella seemed to buy the story and shuffled away to tend the employees in her kitchen. Chiana asked what the discussion had been about and after her bond-mate filled her in she regarded Berret with a look of mischief. If they had been in any other situation, Berret suddenly had the feeling that his wife would have stripped all her clothing off in public just for the shock value. Under the current circumstances he was glad she decided to behave herself and curtailed her relish for causing trouble.  
After breakfast, they went to their rented room and true to her word; Orrella had several dresses laid out on the bed for Chiana to try on. To Berret's surprise, Chiana gushed over the heavy dresses. He'd originally thought his wife would grumble and complain about having to wear clothing that was so... covering.  
To his further amusement, she threw him out of the room so she could try them on alone. Berret shook his head in bewilderment as she closed the door behind him and headed back downstairs to the common room. A few customers where already at the bar, instead of ale this time, their mugs appeared to be filled with some steaming beverage. The quiet murmur of conversation stopped when he entered the room. A few of the patrons craned their necks to look behind him, probably wondering if Chiana was following him.  
After it was obvious he was alone, they turned back to their discussions as Berret made his way over to a clear space at the bar. Orrella happened to be behind it drying glassware while Lessa served the customers their drinks.   
"Oh, Sir Berret," the Innkeeper said, "Would you like a mug of Kl'ash this morning?"  
"Why not," said Berret with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. He had no idea what Kl'ash was but he saw no harm in giving the local drink a try. Orrella set a mug down in front of him and filled the cup herself from a nearby pot.  
"Did your Lady like the dresses I had sent to your room?" she inquired.  
"Yes, thank you," said Berret after tasting the beverage. It sort of reminded him of a drink he'd had a few weekens ago on a commerce planet Moya had laid over at. John and Sean had both insisted that it tasted like something called cinnamon on Earth. "She's in the room now trying them on," he continued. "That's why I'm down here," he added with a mock frown that only touched part of his lips.  
Orrella smiled. "A woman needs her private time to make herself presentable," she said. "You must be newly wed not to already know that."  
Berret smiled back at the woman, realizing she had the upper hand in the conversation. "Yes," he admitted, "we were married only recently."  
Orrella chuckled and patted his hand motherly, "Don't worry. She'll teach you what you have to know."  
The Innkeeper moved on to tend a few of her other customers. After a few microns a number of the other men approached Berret. After apologizing for disturbing him they asked from which direction he had come and if he had seen signs of any game animals in his journey. Berret doubted the men would travel far enough to find the crashed Pod and even if they did it most likely had burned down into something unrecognizable by now. He asked for them to describe what a track of a local game animal looked like. After they did, he informed that that he had seen several signs of herds on the walk there. He did his best to describe the areas and the men quickly zeroed in on the places. They thanked him and asked if he'd care to accompany them on a hunting trip that day. They seemed to think it would be a special occasion to have a "knight" with them on the hunt. One of the group, the man Pherely from the night before, didn't look as if he would consider having Berret along as a special occasion.  
Berret thanked them for the offer but said he would have to think about it and see if his wife was feeling up to being left alone. A large man who introduced himself as Bearl, the village blacksmith, slapped Berret across the shoulder and said slyly that he understood as he was a married man also. The other men laughed at the comment and then descended into great belly laughs when another man pointed out that Bearl's wife was even larger then him and that it was in his own best interest to ask his wife for permission to go hunting. Bearl threw a good-natured insult back at his tormenter and the man shot back that Bearl was just mad because his wife was also the better blacksmith. Berret found himself relaxing with the men as they talked. They were a simple people, without such worries like Peacekeepers or Scarrans. Their concerns settled mostly about their farms, their crops, who needed help raising a barn or storage shed, and of course hunting. Simonn, Bearl's earlier tormenter, was just telling a story about a hunt they were on some cycles past when he stopped talking abruptly. Berret noticed at the same time that all the men at the bar's attention was now riveted on the staircase leading up to the rooms. The Shrike turned in that direction to see Chiana standing on the last step of the stairway looking out over the common room. Berret's jaw literally dropped.   
"Mother's mercy," Bearl muttered in awe and he then hastily yanked the woolen cap off his shaggy head. Several of the other men followed suit.  
Chiana was dressed in a full-length dress made of a dark blue silk-like material. The skirts were full and billowed out from around her hips in graceful falls of shimmering material. The neckline was cut high and covered her to the throat while the sleeves ended in flares covering her arms to the wrist. Over one arm she had Berret's cloak draped. The dark blue color accented her pale gray skin and snow-white hair that had now almost grown down to her shoulders. She had been debating cutting it short again but Berret sort of liked it longer. Berret found her absolutely... stunning. She looked the part of a storybook princess. Orrella watched the men's reaction with amusement. As Berret left the bar to meet his bond-mate he heard the Inn owner say something about the louts finally having the manners to show some proper courtesy to a lady.  
Chiana stepped down off the last step as Berret neared her.  
"I thought you might need this," she said as she handed him his cloak. "Well? What do you think?" she asked next as she turned and modeled the dress for him briefly.  
"I think you're beautiful," Berret replied.   
Chiana blushed for a split microt and then said impishly, "I was talking about the dress."  
"What dress?" Berret said with a mischievous grin of his own.  
"You always know the right thing to say," Chiana cooed in pleasure. She almost leaped up to plant a kiss on her husband but remembered they were in public and smoothed out her skirts instead, playing the role of a proper lady. She looked passed Berret's shoulder to the group of people openly watching them. Seeing the odd looks on their faces, she recalled they couldn't follow their conversation in Nebari and they were probably wondering what the couple was talking about.  
"Who are your new friends?" she asked the ex-assassin. She shifted her eyes in the direction of the bar to remind her bond-mate that they weren't alone, least he do something... un-knightly, such as take the kiss she almost gave him before catching herself.  
She listened intently as Berret filled her in on the morning's happenings in the small village. 


	3. Chapter 2

The Prowler weaved and dodged through the asteroid field. The fast-attack craft soared in a graceful curve around one planetoid body only to stand itself up on a wingtip the next microt as it skimmed between two equally large heavenly masses of meteor-scarred rock.  
Andar gripped the back of the pilot's seat in front of him with white knuckles as the ship straightened out only to completely invert the next moment as it dived under the next asteroid that rose up in their flight path.  
"Couldn't we have gone AROUND the asteroid field?" he asked the beautiful young Delvian woman in the pilot's seat.  
Malika smiled to herself. "What's the matter? A little claustrophobic?" she asked. An immense flat piece of planetoid at least four and a half metra long appeared before them and the woman brought the Prowler down on the deck over the rock. With a sort of savage glee, she opened both Prowler engines up as far as they would go. The asteroid's landscape flashed passed and Andar glanced out the small rear windows of the cockpit to see the fantail of dust and debris the craft's engines were kicking up on the surface behind them as they passed over it. He swallowed hard as he realized they had to be running full out just mere drec above the solid stone. Malika's hands were light and almost casual on the control wheel as she deftly made minute adjustments that kept the craft hugging the contours of the planetoid.   
Andar forced his voice to not show his nervousness as he answered the Delvian.  
"No. I just thought it be nice not to end up splattered all over an asteroid because you sneezed at the wrong moment."  
Malika's grin grew. "Delvians don't sneeze," she said.  
"Liar," Andar muttered to himself and then continued in a more normal tone, "Wouldn't it be easier to look for the Pod OUTSIDE the field?"  
The Delvian shook her scarf-covered head. Having just taken the first vows of the Seek, Malika had shaven her head as was sometimes custom. She wasn't use to being bald yet and the occulars that helped her pilot the Prowler felt strange pressing on the bare skin there and distracted her... thus the scarf.  
"Zhaan wants every sector of this parsec checked for Chiana and Berret's Pod... that also means the field," she told the man behind her.  
"And so naturally you volunteered to check the asteroids," said the man.  
"Can I help it if I drew the fun sector of the area to search?"  
Andar frowned slightly, "I thought Pa'ues weren't suppose to care all that much for 'fun'?" he asked.  
"Where'd you hear that?" she replied and then spiraled the ship between a number of rock bodies, coming so close to some of them that Andar was sure she had scraped paint off the Prowler's gun-mounts.  
"I just reasoned it out," Andar said as he felt his stomach drop out from under him.  
"You're the one who ask to come along," Malika told him. "You should have stayed aboard Moya or joined Rygel and D'argo in a Pod if you don't like the ride."  
"And listen to Rygel's complains and D'argo yelling at him to shut up the entire time? No, thank you," Andar replied with a snort. "Besides, I though you'd take the search more seriously that you are. Aren't you at all worried about them?"  
The Delvian girl shrugged her slim shoulders. "There have been no signs of trouble or anything odd going on. We're well outside the PK and Scarran war zone," she said. "Look," she continued while turning in her seat so she could see the Sebacean man's face. "I think everyone's getting all carried away over nothing. Berret and Chiana were just bonded and it makes sense to me that they might have gotten a little caught up in each other... and maybe lost track of time. I don't think we should worry because they're a little late."  
"You think so?" asked the ex-teacher.  
"Sure," she replied turning back forward to look out the cockpit's screen. "It's probably nothing more sinister that a little romance." Malika then pursed her lips as a thought hit her and than added offhandedly, "Though with Chiana involved... it might be something a bit more on the physical side then romantic."  
Shocked, Andar almost stared wide-eyed at the Delvian. She seemed almost to be hoping that their crewmates had stopped for a truly romantic interlude. She had let slip a side of herself that Andar rarely got to see from the closely guarded new Priestess.  
"My," he said, "I never would have taken you for the hopeless romantic type in a million cycles."   
Malika gave her head a tiny shake as she realized that she slipped up in front of the man, and Andar wasn't about to let her get away with it without some teasing. She kicked in the Prowler's afterburner and jogged the attack-ship hard over to the starboard. The Sebacean man was pressed backwards and thrown to the left unexpectedly.  
"Ouch!" Andar exclaimed as he hit the cockpit wall.  
"Opps!" replied Malika with a hidden grin as she leveled the ship off.  
Andar frowned at the back of Malika's head as he rubbed at the side of his own where he'd just bumped it against to cockpit canopy. He'd more than gotten the message that tormenting his crewmate and sometime lover with his observation might turn out to be less than healthy for him... at least until they got back to Moya.  
  
Berret followed Bearl and several of the other men including the suspicious Pherely to the big blacksmith's shop across the dirt road from the Inn. Chiana had insisted that he take the men up on the offer to go hunting, seeing it as an opportunity to learn more about these people they had fallen in with and the planet they were stranded on. At first Berret had resisted the suggestion, as he feared leaving his bond-mate alone and unprotected. Chiana slyly produced a very sharp knife taken from the Inn's table sometime during breakfast to show her husband she wasn't totally defenseless. Berret almost frowned at the theft but then decided that with what he'd paid so far for their lodging that the Inn could afford to let them "borrow" the knife for the length of their stay. After Chiana promised to stay in their room or close to Mistress Orrella, Berret left with the group of hunters, stopping by the Blacksmith's where Bearl said he had a spare hunting bow the ex-assassin could borrow for the hunt. By the hints of amusement in the other men's eyes, Berret felt there was something more to the offer then was obvious.  
Inside the shop, Bearl presented Berret with a beautiful bow with polished limbs made out of spring steel and a quiver full of study hunting arrows. Bearl made a show out of apologizing that the bow belonged to his wife and that it was only extra one available at the moment. The other men grinned broadly as Berret felt the tension on the bow's string and concluded that weapon's draw had to be in the neighborhood of his own weight without armor. He suddenly got the joke as he realized that a normal man wouldn't be able to draw the weapon. He almost chuckled out load as he considered the fact that it was probably the townsmen's favorite prank to pull on unsuspecting visitors. However, they had never had the experience of having to deal with an expert prankster like Chiana.  
"I know the bow's probably a little lighter than a knight is use to drawing, Sir Berret," Bearl said with an innocent smile, "But if you wish, you can test it on the target on the far wall."  
The blacksmith pointed at a roughly painted large white circle with a red center that was on a group of boards hanging from the back wall of the shop.   
Of course, Berret understood the basic principals of archery thanks to his Shrike programming.  
"Thank you, Bearl," replied the Shrike. "I think I will give your wife's bow a try."  
Berret pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it the bow's string. As he faced the target, the men behind him began to snicker. He caught Bearl's own smile die out of the corner of his eyes as he drew the bow to full draw. As Berret's right-hand thumb locked into position below his right ear at his jaw line, he felt the muscles in his arms tense to the point of almost tearing from the strain of the bow. Heat began to fill his muscles as the microbe's augmentation kicked in. The snickering stopped as he sighted along the thick arrow's shaft. He released the three fingers holding the arrow and bow string and the shaft cut the air in a mean hiss, followed by the solid thud of the projectile burying itself almost to the feather fetching in the wooden target.  
Berret turned to find the group of men regarding him in open-mouthed amazement.  
"You're right," Berret said casually as he examined the bow, "It's a little lighter than I am use to using, but I can make due with it." He looked back up and pretended not to notice the other men's stares. "Shall we get going now?" he asked.  
"Yes, Sir Berret. Right away," muttered a stunned Bearl.  
"Oh... and if I don't get the opportunity. Please thank your wife for the use of her hunting bow for me, will you?"  
"Of course," replied the blacksmith as he motioned for Berret to precede him out of the shop. As he passed the group Berret allowed himself a small smile. It was obvious that the men had meant no harm with the stunt but he was sure that Chiana would be proud of him the way he'd turned it around on them. His bond-mate was always one to appreciate a well-executed prank.  
  
The villagers lent Berret one of the riding animals they called an Y'ahgar. The animal's broad back came up to the Shrike's eye-level. Four-legged with single hoofs and a long coat of course hair, the Y'ahgar also had a wicked pair of horns protruding from its equine head.  
Berret half-expected the beast to be another practical joke by the hunter's, readying himself for the animal to rear up as soon as he mounted. To his surprise, his Y'ahgar remained calm and simply regarded him with dim curiosity before turning its attention back to whatever it was chewing in its mouth.  
After a quick instruction in rein commands that his mount would respond to, the party sent off.  
Berret quickly found the rhythm to riding with his trotting Y'ahgar so when the rest of the group switched into a ground-eating gallop it wasn't hard for the ex-assassin to stay with them. They traveled half an arn from the town, stopping several times to inspect game trails but found none that had recently been used. Berret recalled some of the areas from his trek carrying the unconscious Chiana and directed the party to several places he recalled seeing traces of game animals. The finally hit fresh sign and Bearl knew by his long experience as a hunter which way the herd would be heading. The group left larger main trail and took a logging road off into the hills where the blacksmith claimed the herd would be resting that time of the day.  
They were only a short way along the path when they heard several sudden crashes. Most of the group looked wary at one another; before Berret could ask any question there came a final crashing sound immediately followed by several cries of alarm in the distance. The hunters seemed to know what was up and without explaining, they all spurred their mounts into a hard run up the logging road. Berret followed with them, having to wait for an answer as to what was happening up ahead.  
  
The hunting party broke into a sudden clearing where the cries had originated from to find a logging operation. The clearing was full of stumps from the trees that had been fell in the past, but the trail-path they had been following remained stump free right up to the group of loggers that had amassed beside what looked like a prone body on the ground. The hunters reined in their mounts as they came even with the workers and Berret suddenly caught the smell of ozone in the air.  
"What happened, Arleth?" Bearl called to a nearby man.  
An older man in the group of loggers looked up and sadly shook his head.  
"Solamon was cutting tops on the leeward side of the hilltop when a tempest formed... he was struck by a flashbolt before he could climb down and get clear."  
The entire group abruptly looked crestfallen with the news. "Midg-damn-it," Bearl uttered in a low curse. "Sol was a young lad and just weaned a family for himself."  
"I say its something else beside Midg that brought this bad omen," put in Pherely with a side look at Berret.  
"Stuff that blather, Pherely, before I lump your fool noggin a good one," barked the blacksmith. "You know just as well as any this is tempest season."  
Berret ignored the fidgety little man and his veiled comments about Chiana; instead he focused on the still smothering clothing of the unlucky logger. He didn't have to know what a tempest or flashbolt was in the local dialect to understand what had happened.   
"This man was struck by lightening," he asked to confirm his suspicion.  
"Aye, Sir Berret," supplied Simonn, "Tis the season where tempest form almost in the blink of an eye. A few quick flashbolts of lightening and then the sky is clear as if nothing happened."   
"Its not uncommon for a man who works the outdoors to be caught by one," added the big blacksmith, "Loggers mostly are in danger as they work high from the ground with metal axes. On the ground it's not so bad as the bolts seek the trees first before they will a man. In the air... it best to drop your axe and cut your safety line and take your chances meeting the ground the hard way. It's a blessed shame when one so young is taken."  
The entire group muttered their agreement with the large metal worker.  
"Someone will have to take word to Willna," said a hunter named Orc.  
"Aye... and sent the Old Mother to her," continued Bearl, "She's with their first child and the news will not be good for either."  
Berret had jump down from his mount while the men discussed what had to be done. He approached the fallen man and none seemed incline to bar his way or ask what he was about. He knelt down and felt Solamon's neck for a pulse. As expected there was no signs of life, but cycles spent as a dealer of death had left him with a fairly accurate internal gage to judge how long a body had been dead for. Solamon's body temperature informed the Shrike that he had been deceased less than one-sixth of an arn.  
"When exactly did this happen?" Berret asked out loud.  
"Beg pardon, Sir Knight?" replied Arleth with an uncomprehending blink of sad eyes.  
"How long ago was he struck by the flashbolt?" he re-asked.  
Arleth looked confused at the request but did his best to answer. "No more than a thumbnail's breadth of a candle, Sir Berret. Why do you ask?"  
Berret ignore the question for the moment. Solamon's wool jacket still smothered from the lightening strike. "Its possible there is still time before brain damage sets in," Berret thought to himself.   
Without considering further, he ripped open the fallen man's jacket and leather shirt. The others ceased their conversation and watched the armor-clad man in bewilderment. Solamon's pale silent chest faced Berret. The ex-assassin placed one hand over the dead man's heart and closed his eyes briefly. Without the rhythmic beating of the organ, Berret had to do his best to visualize where it was situated in his torso. He had killed more beings then he cared to remember with the technique he was about to try, but he had never tried to save someone with it. He calculated the location he needed and opened his eyes, letting them softly focus on the imagined target. He centered himself over Solamon's body and slowly drew back his right arm and locked it into a cocked position - fist almost even with his shoulder to deliver a straight-on driving blow. He kept the soft focus and curled only the first joints of his fingers, making a four-finger fist. Berret concentrated; the right amount of power with the right amount of snap... and the energy would travel to the exact point he wanted it too.  
It was something one had to feel with instinct and he let his mind wander. Trusting the Shrike training of his body to know the right moment. Without thought his arm streaked forward and the first set of knuckles of his four fingers impacted Solamon's chest. The others cried out in disbelieve and outrage at the sudden hollow thump their friend's body made from the resounding blow. To Berret it seemed everything moved in slow motion. He felt the man's ribs compress under his knuckles almost to the breaking point. Just before his bones cracked, the Shrike's arm retracted backward a few henta with a snapping motion.   
The energy from Berret's blow, with nowhere else to go, continued traveling downward into Solamon's still body until it came to the place it had been aimed at.  
  
Berret's concentration was so deep he wasn't aware of the other men until Bearl, Arleth, and several other loggers and hunters dragged him away from Solamon.  
"Are ye mad, man?" screamed Bearl at the Shrike.  
Arleth hafted an axe and brandished it at the armored man. "Knight or not, touch Solamon's body again and I'll split your skull," the logger warned.  
Berret's eyes came back into focus and the world seemed to speed back up to normal. "No... no, I had thought..." he endeavored to explain, and then realized that these people wouldn't understand what he was attempting even if he did explain it. He let the sentence trail off.  
"Thought what?" asked the black smith, "That you can beat the life back into Sol?"  
"Maybe it was a custom... a death ritual from his homeland," suggested another man in the group.  
"Or maybe he's possessed," added in Pherely with a smug look.  
Bearl waved any other opinion off. "Whatever it was..."  
Whatever he was about to say was cut off as Solamon chose that moment to wheeze and draw in a long tortured breath. The group as a whole spun in the dead man's direction and several men jumped backwards as their deceased comrade hacked several more times. One man fainted when Solamon abruptly sat up and began panting in fresh air as fast as he could.  
"Wh...wh... whut happen' " the former corpse slurred out a few microts later to the group of men staring at him.  
Bearl's mouth dropped open. "By the Light Mother... the knight did beat the life back into him!"  
The loggers and hunters all turned then to face Berret. Some made warding signs while a few others took hesitate steps away from him and Solamon.  
"Uh-oh!" Berret thought to himself, "Perhaps restarting the injured man's heart wasn't the best idea he'd ha, considering the superstitious nature of these natives."  
Once again, his association with his bond-mate saved the day. Cycles of observing Chiana had taught him to think quickly on his feet... and to lie quite convincingly. Almost as if the Nebari were right beside him feeding him the words, the story came to his lips.  
"No, no... it's really something very simple," he started with a gentle dismissing wave of his hand. "In my homeland we have similar storms and the casualties from flashbolts. What I did to Solamon is common knowledge among my people."  
"What did you do to him," Bearl asked after directing several other men to see to Solamon.   
"Well... its very simple as I said," Berret continued forming the story. "The flashbolt is very powerful... and it stops the heart when it hits you. It stands to reason that another hard blow can restart it if delivered in time."  
The hunters and loggers looked from one to another and a few eventually nodded their heads in agreement after a short discussion on the logic.  
"And where did you learn this?" asked Arleth, still with some suspicion.  
Berret sighed inwardly and began the verbal dance again. "As I said, my homeland has the storms also, especially on the boarders. Before a soldier can go on patrol duty he has to learn the technique. There is no telling when he might have to use it on a comrade or citizen while on his tour."  
"That does make some sense," said Arleth after a moment's consideration.  
Bearl agreed with the head logger then turned to Berret. "But how did your people come to learn about striking the heart to make it work again in the first place?"  
Berret allowed himself to relax a bit. The look on Bearl's and the other men's faces told him they had bought the story. The blacksmith seemed genuinely curious with his question. The continuing story seemed to fill itself out in Berret's mind, the fantasy coming much easier now that most of the pressure of retaining his and Chiana's cover story was off. He smiled warmly at Bearl and the men who stood listening.  
"And that is a rather odd coincidence," the Shrike began. "When I was taught how to do it, the story I was told about how the technique was discovered by my people generations ago went like this... Two hunters who grew up as best friends - closer than brothers - were out on a hunt one day in the hills of the boarder lands. Both men had bragged before leaving the village about which one would bring home the most game that day. The day was long and neither hunter had found any game. Just before it was time to head back home, one man wandered around a hill and there before him was the biggest stag either man had ever seen. In the blink of an eye the first man drew his bow and brought the stag down with one arrow. His friend then came over the top of the next hill and saw his boyhood comrade and his kill. The first man shook his bow in the air in triumph.  
"Ah-ha!" he shouted up the hill to his friend, "I have taken the biggest stag the village has ever seen. Now you must come down and help me drag it back!"  
His friend waved back and yelled something rude to the lucky hunter. But he smiled for his friend good luck and began the trip down the hill to join him by his trophy..."  
The men were enraptured by the hunting story, as Berret knew they would be. They couldn't help but be drawn in by something so close to their hearts. Even Pherely was listening with quiet attention.   
The Shrike relaxed even more and began to enjoy the yarn himself.  
"Halfway down the hill," he continued, "A sudden storm arose as they commonly do. Before the first friend's horrified eyes, a bolt of lightening streaked out of the heavens and pierced the chest of his life-long friend. The man fell unmoving to the ground. The lucky hunter forgot all about his huge stag as he rushed up the hill to his friend.  
When he got there, he found the second man lifeless. Tears filled his eyes for the man who was closer to him than a brother. He screamed at the sky at the injustice, pulled at his own hair in grief.  
"He eventually sank to the ground besides his fallen comrade, so filled with his morning and grief he began to babble. He accused his dead friend of being jealous of his stag. That he purposely was struck by the flashbolt so that he wouldn't have to help him drag the grand beast back to the village of all their friends and familes to see. In his bereavement, he began to flail at his friend's body, beating on his chest with closed fists. Several time he struck his friend over the heart. He continued hitting the corpse until he no longer had any strength left in his arms. Eventually he collapsed on top of his comrade and sobbed. He cried until he heard his friend's confused voice asking, "Why are you hitting me?"   
  
The men let out pent up breaths as they realized that was the end of Berret's story and that the friend had come back to life.   
"And that is how your people discovered that striking the chest hard after a flashbolt strike can restart the heart?" asked a logger in slight awe.  
"Yes," replied Berret with a small satisfied smile for the group.  
Bearl raised his hand to interrupt. "But what about the end of the story?" he asked with anxious eyes.  
"End of the story?" asked Berret somewhat dumbfounded. He had thought he had ended the tale perfectly. Chiana could not have possibly done better herself.  
"Well, yes," added Pherely exasperatedly as if Berret had taken leave of his senses.  
"I don't understand," admitted Berret. "The man lives and the technique is discovered. What more is there?"  
Most of the men tisked to themselves and looked at each other almost as if they thought Berret had cheated them of something. Finally Simonn took pity and explained the dilemma.  
"Well, did the hunters get the stag back to the village and was it truly the biggest anyone had ever taken?"  
Berret looked around at the circle of expectant faces.  
"Oh...!" he said in comprehension. 


End file.
